


aftershock

by clayisforgirls



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post Match Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"this is what Andy needs – someone who he can take his frustration out on"</p><p>Post Andy's 2005 US Open loss. Originally posted in October 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aftershock

There's nothing anyone can say which will make Andy feel better, which is why he's alone and drinking in a bar, the closest one to the hotel he could find. He hopes no one recognises him, hopes that the darkness will at least help him remain anonymous tonight, because he doesn't want to deal with anyone or anything.

It's one of the reasons he's down here – to escape. He just can't take any more consolation and disappointment, and he's drowning his sorrows the way he's become accustomed to in the last year – by drinking, never to excess, just enough to make him feel a little better.

One hour and three beers later, Andy's a little tipsy and pays, leaving the bar. He makes a note of exactly where it is in his alcohol infused brain for future use, though he's not sure he'll remember tomorrow, and heads back to the hotel, alone. He looks defeated as he walks, shoulders slumped, looking down, muttering to himself and swinging an imaginary racquet, and doesn't apologise when he accidentally walks into someone, instead choosing to glare at them, but feeling so frustrated with himself that he'd really like to punch them.

In short, he's nothing like the happy, bouncy Andy of a day ago.

There's just a few people wandering around the hotel this late at night, and Andy ignores them all, even the friendly doorman who greets him by name. The elevator seems to take forever, but finally Andy gets to his floor, searching his pockets for his key card which just frustrates him further.

The door finally opens, and when he slams it behind him he's shocked to find Roger in front of him. He didn't expect Roger to still be waiting for him. There's something in Roger's eyes which Andy hasn't seen for a while; it's the same look he had after Wimbledon, a mix of concern and love and something else entirely that Andy can't place.

Before Roger can speak, Andy's brutally kissing him. There's no romance, just teeth and tongues and bruising lips and hands and Roger's sure he'll have marks in the morning that he won't be able to explain but this is what Andy needs – someone who he can take his frustration out on.

Andy's never been quite like this before – not even after his loss to Lleyton at the Australian Open – but he knows this means so much more to Andy, he had so much more riding on this one, and he knows how shocked Andy is by it all because it was so unexpected. Andy grabs Roger's hips, pushing him against the nearest wall without breaking the kiss, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises. Roger's gentler, he doesn't want to mark Andy, doesn't want to hurt him more than he already is.

He can taste the alcohol on Andy's breath, and he hates it. He's aware Andy only drinks when he's had a bad day, but he's sure it can't be healthy for the American, and wishes that Andy just came to him instead. After all, it hasn't seemed to help him now; he's still as frustrated and shocked as he was almost three hours ago.

"Need you now," Andy whispers into Roger's ear, voice rough from the alcohol. Roger doesn't say no, he can't, not to Andy on his birthday, and weakly nods. They undress fast, Andy doing most the work for him; he's concentrating so much on the task at hand. They're both hard already, and Roger gasps as Andy rubs their cocks together, hips fitting together perfectly.

He can't get enough of Roger, hungry for more, and the bed isn't close enough for Andy, so he pulls them onto the floor, not breaking the kiss, Roger on top of Andy. His eyes sting with unshed tears as the carpet burns his skin, but he likes the pain, he wants to feel every little thing. Roger strokes his cock, and he arches into his hand, eyes shut, crying out.

"Inside me," he gasps, so close and yet he doesn't want release yet, he wants to feel Roger inside of him, something which doesn't happen all that often.

"Lube, Andy... where is it?"

"No lube, just you. Please Roger. I... I need this."

The look in Andy's eyes tells Roger that he's not going to back down over this, and resigned, Roger spits into his palm and does the best he can at preparing Andy, stretching him as much as possible.

Andy tries to relax as Roger pushes inside of him, but it hurts more than he imagined, tear leaking out of his eye. He brushes it away before Roger can notice and grits his teeth, trying not to think about it. There's a few moments where Roger checks Andy is okay and not in too much pain, bending to kiss him gently, and then he moves.

There's a rush of pleasure-pain for Andy, he can feel it hurting but it feels good so he doesn't care, and with Roger's hand wrapped around him he arches up, eyes closed and head back, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. He pulls Roger closer, another grip tight enough to leave a bruise, and kisses him again, desperate for more.

Skin sticks together with sweat as they find an almost rhythm, Andy just a little too frantic in his movements. He doesn't feel the carpet burn as he gets closer and closer to orgasm, nothing in his mind but how good everything feels right now. He knows he'll ache tomorrow, but can't bring himself to care.

Just before he comes he meets Roger's dark eyes and then it's over, Andy crying out and Roger close behind, taking Andy through his orgasm first.

He doesn't realise he's crying until he feels Roger pull out of him and wipes the tears from his face, and suddenly he can't stop, everything pouring out at once. Roger can't make out what he's saying, it's just a stream of words mixed into choking sobs, so he comforts Andy by holding him close, hand on his back. It seems to calm him, sobs eventually dying down, turning into sniffles.

His eyes are red and puffy as he looks at Roger, and there are tear tracks down his cheeks, but Roger doesn't think he's ever seen Andy more beautiful than in that moment, open and honest, though he knows it might be the alcohol making him that way. There isn't any of the Andy he saw half an hour ago, frustrated and needing release, there's just a wonderful man who needs a little bit of confidence and love.

"It's my birthday, Roger," is the only thing that he says before he kisses the Swiss lightly, touch far gentler than earlier.

"I know liebling, I know."

"I thought of you, you know. In the final set. Wondered what you would do if you were two sets down."

"And?"

"Realised that you wouldn't be two sets down." He attempts humour, his main defence mechanism, but it falls flat on Roger, and he pauses in thought. "I just, I don't, I don't know where to go from this. I don't know what to do. I thought I was improving... but... maybe I never will. Maybe this is the best I'll ever get. I'm not destined for eternal greatness like you, but I thought that I'd at least have a shot at another Slam."

Andy's lack of hope disturbs Roger, he knows better than anyone apart from maybe Dean how much effort Andy has put into his game in the last year, and even with the losses, he's never known Andy to be so despondent. It's as though the match took his passion for the game away, and all that's left is an empty shell.

He picks and chooses his words carefully, thinking it over before he speaks.

"Andy, you can do whatever you set your mind to. I believe that. You're strong and unwilling to go without a fight and relentless and you're good at tennis."

"Then why do I keep losing?"

This time, Roger has no answer, and pulls Andy into his lap. They're both sweaty and sticky, and they should shower but he doesn't want to, he just wants to make Andy feel better.

And if sitting on the floor holding him makes him feel better, then that's what he'll do. For hours, if necessary.

"Will you still love me when I'm ranked 100?"

"You won't be ranked 100."

"But would you love me?"

"Ja, always."

"Love you too, Rog," he says while yawning, causing Roger to smile. "Can we just stay here for a while?"

"Anything you want."

They don't move until Andy falls asleep in Roger's arms, head resting against his shoulder. Gently, Roger picks him up and carries him to bed, tucking him in among the sheets.

"Guten nacht, mein engel," he whispers, as he presses a kiss to Andy's forehead. "Sleep well. Tomorrow will be a better day."

Roger just hopes it is.


End file.
